


Grilled Cheese

by ComputerPerson



Category: Fate/Apocrypha, Fate/Grand Order, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, Mordred wants a grilled cheese, Rated T for Mordred's potty mouth, That's it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2021-02-16 00:22:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21498781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComputerPerson/pseuds/ComputerPerson
Summary: Mordred just wants a god damn grilled cheese.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 54





	Grilled Cheese

Antarctica is a desolate, desolate place. Chaldea is an oasis of life in the middle of the frozen wasteland. It’s the only place you can get a grilled cheese at any time of day. Any time except now, apparently. Mordred slams the fridge closed. 

“Damn it.” 

There’s nothing to eat. Nooothing. Not a scrap of food Mordred would remotely enjoy. It’s not an unreasonable request, one grilled cheese sandwich. There’s always _something_ to eat in the kitchen. Except, for some reason, right now. 

The sound of footsteps passes by the kitchen. Mordred pokes his head out the door. 

“Archer!”

Emiya turns around. “Mordred? It’s the middle of the night. What are you doing up here?” 

“You’re a good cook, right? Grill me a cheese.” 

“I-- it’s late. I was going upstairs. I can’t make you anything right now. I could this afternoon, if you like, but…” 

Mordred sighs. “I’m hungry.”

“Is there nothing to eat? I’m sure you can find something somewhere in Chaldea if you keep looking.” Emiya pats Mordred on the shoulder and starts back down the hall. 

Mordred sighs more loudly. There’s no food _in_ Chaldea, there’s no food _outside_ in the snow… there’s food elsewhere, though, isn’t there? He shuts the door behind him and starts up the stairs after Emiya. There’s someone else who could help acquire a grilled cheese. 

He slides open the door to Da Vinci’s room and quietly makes his way over to the bed. He leans over and shakes her shoulder. “Da Vinci. Da Vinci. Da Vinci. Da Vinci.”

“Hnnngh.”

“Da Vinci. Da Vinci. Da Vinci.”

“Whaaat?” She rolls over and squints at the digital clock on her bedside table. “Mordred, it’s two in the morning. What do you want?”

“I need you to Rayshift me somewhere.”

“Why on god’s green earth do you need to be Rayshifted somewhere at 2:21 am?”

“I want a grilled cheese.”

Da Vinci pulls the covers over her head and lets out a long, pained sigh. “Sir Mordred, I will not use the incredibly complex and expensive technology that is Rayshifting to get you a grilled cheese. Get out of my room.” 

Mordred groans and leaves the room, slamming the door shut behind him. 

He makes his way back to the kitchen and pulls open the door to the fridge again. There’s bread, and there’s cheese, and there’s butter. If no one can make him a grilled cheese, he can make one himself. 

Mordred constructs a sandwich with two slices of cheese between two slices of bread. He spreads butter on one side, and places it on a pan, then places the pan on the stove. 

How high should the heat be? High? He puts it on high. 

After a few minutes, he figures he should probably flip it. What do you flip a grilled cheese with? A spatula? Do they have a spatula? They have to, right? 

Mordred starts digging through drawers for a spatula. He finds one in the fourth drawer he looks in, but when he stands back up, he can smell something burning. 

“Shit!”

He runs over and takes the pan off the stove. The sandwich is burnt to the point of being unsalvageable, so he scrapes it off the pan into the trash can. 

Round two. 

Bread, cheese, cheese, bread, butter, place it on the pan. He puts the pan on the stove and waits until it starts to smell like a grilled cheese, then slides the spatula under the sandwich, and… the spatula doesn’t move. He yanks on it, and the spatula comes off the pan, but the sandwich goes flying.

“Fuck!”

Mordred picks up the sandwich and throws it away. He inspects the pan. There’s weird, gooey stuff stuck to it.

“What the hell is that?”

He looks at the spatula. 

Oh. 

The rubber or plastic or whatever from the spatula had melted onto the pan. Maybe he should’ve been using a metal one. Fuuuck. 

Third time’s the charm, right? Bread, cheese, cheese… no more bread. Mordred slams the pan on the stove. 

“FUCK!”

He spins around to kick a chair and freezes. There’s a shadow at the back of the room. 

“No, keep going,” it says. “This is funny.” 

Mordred squints at the shadow. He can vaguely make out… 

“Angra Mainyu?” 

“That’s me.” 

“Why the hell are you watching me make a grilled cheese?

“Oh, is that what you were doing?” Angra asks. He steps out of the corner and walks over to Mordred. “First of all, you need a new pan if the spatula melted onto it.” 

“Alright, shut--”

“Second of all, the spatula melted onto the pan because you have the heat on maximum. Have you ever cooked before in your life?”

“No,” Mordred says indignantly. “Have you?” 

The expression Angra gives him makes him scoot away. 

“Look,” says All The World’s Evil. “I’ll teach you how to grill a cheese.” 

“There’s no more bread,” Mordred says. 

“There’s bread in the pantry.” 

“Why the hell would you put bread in the pantry?” Mordred asks. 

“Why the hell would you put bread in the fridge?” Angra opens the door to the pantry and pulls out a loaf of sliced bread in a plastic bag. “Get a new pan.” 

Mordred pulls a pan out from the cabinet next to the stove and places it on the counter. Angra turns the heat down to medium before putting the pan on the stove. 

Angra cuts a slice of butter and drops it into the pan, letting it melt until it’s a bubbly liquid. He constructs a sandwich--bread, cheese, cheese, cheese, bread--and places it in the melted butter. 

Mordred watches as he perfectly flips the sandwich and presses down on it with the spatula. It’s still a plastic spatula, Mordred observes, but not the one he had melted. 

Angra puts the grilled cheese on a plate and hands it to Mordred. 

“Can you cut it in half diagonally?” Mordred asks. 

Angra takes a bite. 

“WHAT are you--”

“Oh, did you want this? You should’ve asked.” He takes another bite. “If you want one, you can make your own. I was just showing you how.” 

Mordred groans. All this work just for a grilled _fucking_ cheese. 

Angra eats his sandwich as he watches Mordred cut a slice of butter and put it in the pan. Once it’s melted he makes the sandwich with, fuck it, three slices of cheese, and puts it in the pan. 

Angra is two-thirds way through his grilled cheese. “Now flip it. Gently.” 

Mordred slides the spatula under the sandwich. It doesn’t get stuck this time, and he manages to flip it without it falling apart. 

After a minute, Angra says, “Okay, take it off.” Mordred slides the grilled cheese from the pan to a plate. He pulls out Clarent. 

“ _What_ do you have your sword out for?” Angra asks. 

“To cut the sandwich,” 

“Use a kitchen knife, you crackhead,” Angra says, and disappears through the door. 

That’s… probably a good idea. Mordred takes a knife out of the drawer and cuts the sandwich in half diagonally. He takes a bite. 

The cheese is gross. 

Mordred picks up the sandwich and throws it as hard as he can at the wall. 

He's never going to get a grilled cheese.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry Mo


End file.
